Letters For My Husband

Chapter 9

Have I just updated this for the first time in a year... or two. Yes, yes I have ;p

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It took a long while before either of them felt reasonable comfortable within their own skin before they could move again. Having moved to the couch without words and a uniform thought the clock kept ticking without any attention paid to it. The sun was near setting by the time reality came inbetween the comforting bubble of their warm embrace. Two sharp inhales and two lips pressing against each other in a tender kiss lasting only seconds, two eyes staring into one another in just a fraction of contentment. Madara was the first to rise from the cushions, already in the process of debating who he could call for help in this situation. He had many old contacts, several powerful, several minor- however all of them he was fairly certain were somewhat against him due to his leaving his position of power and partially ruining their own as a result. He glanced to Naruto on the couch, sullen and glaring at the ground leaning against the back- pouting in fact, completely ridiculous to see in their situation but it lifted some weight hanging off him.

Madara was more then aware his own status as a major general brought people to the assumption he was strong, they weren't wrong so to speak. Though the man knew that his spouse was far more so when strained then he could ever be- an ability which he had seen whence getting to know them. A curiosity in the way his eyes lit for rebellion, the stubborn tick of his jaw when challenged and butted into a corner, the solid steel indignance which flashed in blue eyes when angered or determined -or both. Now, of all things he set- depressed for the situation, angry, but pouting as if it was shear stupidity to be in this situation. Despite his well practised control Madara almost laughed at the sight- the normality of it, instead he scoffed for it. The minor smile dawning on his lips being the only indication that he was possessing any emotion in that moment at all.

He entered their room with a sigh. The bright orange and black bed covers ostentatious onto his eyes, least he had insisted the walls be painted black. With a sure hand he grabbed the box on their dresser, he had been surprised originally to find that his blond had kept it in moving. But understanding came to him quickly after he'd briefly mentioned it and was faced with a sheepish grin which cracked in its display to show a sadness he was still not ready to face. The box was a piece of his past an heirloom which had been passed down throughout his family since the late Edo dynasty. Its lock as such was rather primitive, being that there barely was one, in it was an abundance of his secrets conjeeled together. Opening it revealed his old pistol with a box of bullets and a black ringed notebook- containing the names of various contacts he had accumulated over the years, the previous locations of drop areas, financial reports from the companies his family had bought along with various agents they had spiraled around japan. All of it was outdated of course, but the business was hardly easy to get out of once knee deep.

He had been fortunite in knowing the -at the time- future Prime Minister; and the fact that Hashirama Senju had found herself in office after having aided him in covering his identity was just how the universe worked.

Naruto had whispered with a cracking voice and a curling fist around Madara's own bisep that the persons who had threatened had called themselves 'the Akatsuki.' There were several reasons why hearing that name had him tense in both anger and conviction, he knew the group well enough, he had been part of the reason they had come into being after all. A young hopeful Uchiha had asked him for aid many years ago, stating the benefits of having a speicalized assassination group for higher- one which could easily be mistaken for a simple mercanery group rather then a piece of his family's yakuza. It had given them much more invision in how their competitors were fairing, in addition to that many of their beneficiaries had made an deal on their buyer's lives in an attempt to get out- they were reported and killed off quickly. Obito had proposed the idea, a young kin with hopeful eyes for praise and he had delivered, Madara had gifted him plenty for his success. Presently however, he shook himself away from the fact.

Sitting on their bed he shifted through the papers, lined with many useless names who would rather shoot him then provide an aid. Going to the military would be idiotic, with his own vast experience he knew that it wouldn't stop one of his own -in a sense- trained groups. Madara was no fool, changing numbers was necessary in their business and no one within his booklet would have the same one after so many years. But finding a name would mean he could contact Hashirama- are to his own irritation, Mito, either of which could seek out the desired contact for aid. Though he knew his old friend would be more then happy to shelter him and Naruto it would only prove detrimental, for many reasons both personal and practical.

With a flash of inspiration his finger rested on a single name which would almost certainly help him. Still, Madara sunk into the comfortable mattress, a dark familiarity crushing his chest in that moment. Because he knew the result of all of this.

He would have to go back. He couldn't deal with the mercenaries quietly, it would draw the attention of too many family's, he was skilled but he couldn't go into hiding a second time.

Staring to the closed door, that which blocked him from the sight of the man he loved. The same man who had probably already gotten up from the couch and watering his plants, the one who was watching TV with the sound a fraction too loud. A man who could get up in the morning with a grin even while remaining sluggish and all but throwing bacon and eggs into a pan. A blond who laughed at the idiotic comedies he occasionally forced Madara to watch. Naruto who agreed to denounce his aspiration to become a fashion model in order to protect his husband's identity without even knowing that he was doing so in two different ways. Naruto who loved old music and sung Billy Joel in the shower with a voice seemingly aiming to shatter the title.

His spouse, who he would be dragging into a life of espianage, secrets and death. Madara was a practical man, and he knew to save Naruto he would have to sink himself back into the yakuza once again, this time permanently, there was no choice in that.

He could save Naruto from it. He could leave after it was dealt with, he could save that golden sunshine blond hair from being drawn into the midnight. Separate them once more and live within the boundaries of his grotesque past life without that smile. Or he could keep his love with him, drag him into the blood and gore which a life of crime bought.

Madara was a husband.

Madara was a father.

Madara was a Major General in the Japanese Army.

Madara was a practical man, a stoic man, a cautious man, and perhaps rarely- a caring man.

Madara was a former business buyer.

Madara was a former criminal.

Madara was a former yakuza head.

Madara was a murderer.

Madara was a mass murderer.

The door opened with the smallest click of the old knob. It had black eyes looking onto the small figure of a fashion journalist with a soft face, a kind, tender and loving smile with sparkling blue eyes which no sun could compare to. All directed to him, the warm and soft kiss on his cheek was his to cherish.

With closed lids the tall man, the former military general, the former regular citizen breathed deeply and grabbed his mobile as Naruto began to change behind him.

Madara was a selfish man.